Jamais
by iS2.coheed.and.cambria
Summary: “There’s an opposite to déjà vu. They call it jamais vu.” – Chuck Palakniuk. Sam doesn’t expect to go into a simple haunting and come out with no memory and no opportunity to retain any future information or events. Then again, can you expect anything?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Jamais Vu

**Title: **Jamais

**Author: **iS2.coheed.and.cambria

**Rating: T**

Summary: "There's an opposite to déjà vu. They call it jamais vu." – Chuck Palakniuk. Sam doesn't expect to go into a simple haunting and come out with no memory and no opportunity to retain any future information or events. Then again, can you expect anything?

**Disclaimer: **Would you believe me if I said I did own Supernatural?

_**A/N: **Another one I've held off writing for a while in a futile attempt to update my other multi chapter fics. And of course (ok who else thinks 'of course' should be one word? (ofcourse) I swear I spell it wrong left and right), the only antidote for slow updating is to add another one to update! I don't really know whats wrong with me but I hope your enjoy this fic. I got the idea from reading a line from the novel Choke by Chuck Palahniuk (quoted below)(btw read it!). I never knew there was something other than déjà vu or that there was such a thing as "the vu's" but they intrigued me to write this piece. Not a oneshot and also not a death fic (surprisingly). Hope you enjoy! Like I said at the bottom of this fic I'll try to respond to reviews as soon as I get them : )_

_**- - - - - - -**_

'_**Jamais'**_

"_There's an opposite to déjà vu. They call it jamais vu. It's when you meet the same people or visit places, again and again, but each time is the first. Everybody is always a stranger. Nothing is ever familiar."_

-Chuck Palahniuk, Choke.

- - - - - - -

Some times, it is the moments in life that make it suck so hard.

"I'm sorry, but I don't see your brother ever recovering from this."

What a joke. What a riot.

We're in some hospital, god knows where. I'm in a hallway with some 5'4 man telling me lies (the truth).

Telling me that getting hit with a baseball during a friendly game (getting pummeled by an angry spirit) can cause my brother to loose his memory. And not just loose it once, but everyday. Loose long term and short term and everything in between because of a ball (rock) because of a momentary event.

Because of something that happened within a second, this doctor can't see my brother, my only brother, recovering. Everything is done. It's all over.

And Jesus Christ. I thought 50 First Dates was just a goddamn movie. Not my life.

"Some cultures they call it 'Jamais Vu'" the doctor muses and I want to scream out 'I don't care!' but find a way to bite my tongue.

"Can I just see him?" I whisper.

"Of course," and he slides his hand over and opens the door to Sam's room where I see my brother.

He's lying there on that damn hospital bed. On a sea of sick and _no memories_. Because Jeez if your loose your memory it's really just like loosing everything.

To not be able to retain? To think yesterday is today and yesterday will be the same as tomorrow? Everyday will start off with a blank slate. Everyday will be nothing until your fall asleep, put your head down on that soft yet evil pillow and wake the next morning. And nothing's left.

Nothing is familiar so everything just means nothing.

Well, that's where my brother's at right now. He's in the middle of sickness and nothing and of course unfamiliar ness. Stuck right in the center of oblivion. It's sick, but it's well… the truth.

"He's just sleeping right now. He'll be awake in no time, at all."

The doctor pats my shoulder in sympathy and exits the room. Leaving me with a brother, who has nothing, but means _everything_.

And I'm so fucking sick I think, _No. He's never waking up._

- - - - - - -

It's when my baby brother starts to stir that a fucking jolt of hope explodes throughout my body. When stroking his hand may mean a familiar touch and not a stranger's passing brush. When the head I'm stroking over and over again has something inside of it. Some memory of the life we had before twisted fate took its role.

Like stroking his fucking head and smoothing those goddamn unruly bangs away from his eyes could coax memories through his ears and nose and mouth, ending up in the place they belong.

Like I can press the reset button on a worthless electronic or press 'undo' in a word document. Like my hand is a floppy disk that I could simply put next to my brother's head to fill it with data. And dad. And the Impala. And god forbid demons and vampires. Spirits and fucking pagan gods. And just maybe our childhoods? Or something that happened mere _hours_ ago?

Like anything I'm doing right now before he opens his eyes can reverse this unimaginable damage done to my brothers' fragile mind. But when he opens his eyes and I feel Déjà vu sweep over me I know I failed once again.

It's just like the last time. Last time I failed.

- - - - - - -

Sam's eyes opened lightly and he stared up at me. And I'm sitting there all happy. Coaxing him with words like, "Come on Sammy, do it." And "Open those crazy big eyes for me,"

_When his eyes peek open I smile so goddamn wide. The room smelling of so much fucking irony._

"_Hey Sammy. How ya doin'?"_

_He looks at me. This look of profound confusion all across his beaten features from being thrown around by that spirit. He looks at me but not in a way in which I seem unfamiliar, more in a way that everything – and I mean everything- else is unfamiliar._

"_D-de… Dean?" he asks softly as if he's unsure._

_I nod eagerly and whisper, "Yeah, Sammy it's me. How ya feelin' you really got a bump there little brother…"_

_He frowns so deep I wonder if the lines will remain there. I hear his breathing speeding up slightly and his eyes darting around trying to figure out what exactly is going on when he blurts out, "What? Wait… Sam?"_

_My eyebrows furrow and I whisper, "Yeah, Sam… Your name?" he asks like I didn't just fucking say it._

"_My name?"_

"_Yeah. Your name… Sam, you do know that's your name right?"_

_He shakes his head but then stops himself and says, "Well if you say it is, Dean."_

_I stop him quickly and say much louder now, "No, I mean did you know that was your name before I told you?"_

_Sam hesitates but shakes his head firmly._

_I try to calm myself and ignore his look of shame. Like he's fucking sorry for not knowing. I have to breathe before I ask this next question and I whisper, "Sam, be honest with me… Is there anything else you don't know?"_

_Sam stares at me, almost afraid to give the answer and just whispers, "You're Dean."_

"_Yeah I got that but is there anything else you remember other than the fact that I'm Dean?"_

_I see Sam start to shake his head but then he stops quickly, "You're Dean. That's it..."_

_That's when I glance at Sam before slamming my finger onto the call button. And I don't stop until I think the whole fucking hospital is in my baby brother's hospital room._

- - - - - - -

Now I blink my eyes, as if when I open them something different from that day will lay before me.

"D-de… Dean?"

And I blink again, it's all too much like it was hours ago. It's the exact same moment but hours later. Déjà vu, it's called. Funny how I'm sitting in Déjà vu while my brother is living Jamais vu. Pure opposites yet so closely connected.

And that's too much. I can't live a life like this. My brother can't live a life like this. I've only experienced it for hours. Soon it will be years. Every time he wakes up there's nothing there. No more singing along to songs together. No more hunts. No more 'remember when's'.

No more, "Bitch." "Jerk."

No more.

And maybe, just maybe all I really want to do at this point is die.

Jesus Christ, sometimes in times like this. In times when the life before you seems so grim, so hard and impossible and _unfamiliar_ dying becomes a very promising option.

And that?

That is just sad.

_**TBC…**_

- - - - - -

_A/N: While writing this I just decided to end it here and make it a multi chapter fic. I'm guessing 5 or 6 chapters I'm going to try and contain this one. I'm going for simple yet deep if that makes any sense I hope you saw that._

_And thank you sooo much to everyone who takes the time to read this and review! I will do my best to respond to any reviews I get : ) _

_Have a great day and I hope you enjoyed!_

_-Lilia_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Jamais

**Author: **.

**Rating: T**

Summary: "There's an opposite to déjà vu. They call it jamais vu." – Chuck Palakniuk. Sam doesn't expect to go into a simple haunting and come out with no memory and no opportunity to retain any future information or events. Then again, can you expect anything?

**Disclaimer: **Would you believe me if I said I did own Supernatural?

**A/N: **I haven't written in a really long time. It's been a sort of horrible year, but I'm back and hopefully writing regularly. Thanks to anyone who reads this!

- - - - - - -

Weeks of turning to the call of your name.

"Dean?"

'Dean' every morning. 'Dean' after the afternoon naps.

"Dean?" waking you up, you were just trying to get some shuteye. 'Dean' and then he knows. He knows every glittering detail about your existence but he can't seem to place how you met, or what your last conversation entailed. He cannot name one single memory shared with you to save his life, but he knows you. He knows that once he awakens from a tiring sleep, your name is the only one worth calling for.

Your brother's name is Sam and he has just woken and there you are. You poor bastard. Look down. There are his lost eyes that meet yours and lock. There is your brother; he has no idea who he is. He is alone and in need of every bit of attention you have in stock.

Do not try to conceal it, 'Dean?' we know that look is killing you. We know you're near the end of your rope.

We all know it has only been four days; you don't need to tell us.

Only four days have passed and the knife in your trunk is looking too sharp, too quick. The gun looks smooth and soundless. Your mind drifts to that last shape shifter you hunted. You remember that slick, silver bullet; the way it slipped from the barrel and like butter pierced the creature. The bullet, so strong and determined, so unlike yourself. You can't even remember admiring Dad this much.

"Dean?"

Maybe he will not realize if you do not respond. Maybe the simple fact (when a person calls for another they usually answers back) has vanished from his memory as well. We know you are sitting there praying that your silence will be taken as normal.

"Dean? Please,"

We all know you hear him whisper, "I'm confused."

So broken, but still. You ignore, ignore that you are both trapped. Trapped in unfamiliar.

You may even be more confused than he is.

But how did you get there?

- - - - - - -

"_Dean?" _

"_Yes, Sammy?"_

_And you fly to his side. _

_Grasping shoulders and holding. A squeeze or two and maybe this will seem familiar, but nothing is familiar. _

"_Wait… Sammy?"_

_You sigh and bite your tongue, "Yes, that is your name."_

_Sam's nod stays for a second before becoming a shake of the head, "I don't understand."_

"_I know Sammy, but you'll get better soon."_

- - - - - - -

"_Dean?"_

"_Yeah, Sam?"_

_And you run to his side._

_You rest a palm on his shoulder and look into those glossy eyes. So lost._

"_Wait-"_

"_Sam is your name."_

_He looks hurt and moves from under your hand. _

"Why do I not remember that?" His eyes first downcast are now up and searching. He knows you hold answers.

_But you don't want to talk about it._

"_You've always been like this Sammy."_

_And he tries to hold back the tears._

- - - - - - -

"_Dean?"_

"_Mhmm?"_

_And you walk to his side._

- - - - - - -

_And then:  
_

"_Dean?"_

"_What?"_

_And you inch to his side._

- - - - - - -

Like a wild animal awaking from a short nap, Sam's eyes fly open.

He's the wounded animal clawing at the ground. He is the hunting dog that's just a puppy. Poor thing, doesn't even recognize it's own strength.

Sam is awake and searching for the only person he knows. Sam is awake and dying for an answer or two. An explanation or three.

Sam is awake and crawling. Still weak, four days of non-healing have passed him by. Today is the first, however. Tomorrow will be too. And the day after that, and the day after-

A blurry image pumps against his forehead. He focuses on it. He's managed to retain this one image in his mind, with only one word attached to it. Dean.

One word swims aimlessly through his mind. Dean.

He calls for Dean a couple times before defeated, whispers, "I'm confused,"

Surely Dean is the only person that can make me understand what this place is. What the skin around him means.

Sam sits on his bed, his skin crawling, itching its way out of the covers encircling him. They are too scratchy, too thin. He cannot remember why he does not like the feeling of these blankets. He just knows they are wrong.

"Dean?"

- - - - - - -

He hears the breathy whisper of his name for the fourth time; he is no more inclined to answer.

He sits, his armchair turned slightly to the window, back to his brother. Déjà vu sliding from the tips of his hairs to the bottoms of his feet, causing his body to stick to whatever it is currently touching. The chair is where he will stay, the chair is where his body, his tension fits.

Yet, that voice keeps calling, it says Dean, Dean, Dean. And he feels like he's going to get up; he thinks: enough, enough, enough.

But there's that chair… chair… chair…

"Yes, Sam?" Dean calls back, vacantly, from his seat.

He stares down at his palms, trying to envision his power in them. He could tell Sam to shut up. He could tell his brother he hated him, hated him more than death and disease and war. Say to him in a deathly convincing tone how the very thought of him makes him want to quickly run to the toilet and drown himself. And Sam would cry, Sam would shatter, but he would not remember. It is what makes the inability to move from this seat bearable, it is the excuse. Because no matter how much he fucks up now, Sam _will_ fall asleep again. Sam _will_ wake up blank and calling: Dean, Dean, Dean.

"Wait… Sam?"

Eyes shut quickly and roll in their sockets. Dean pictures them sinking so deep into his skull that they become stuck there. So stuck that he never has to see that confused look on his brothers' face that he knows is there. He plays with the idea of his ears folding in upon themselves, shutting out the sound of that needy, pathetic voice. The voice he cannot bare to hear for one moment more.

"Yes. Your name is Sam, did you forget?"

Eyes fly open and he spins in his seat as much as the glue will allow. He can see the hurt in his eyes.

Because yes, he did forget.

Dean swivels back to the window and hears hands slide to temples and stroke, as if to massage a bit of memory back to that place. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard, honestly. The long sigh, the holding confusion: pots banging, babies crying.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

His eyes look over his shoulder and they lock. The apology is just too real.

- - - - - - -

The next morning, once they pass introductions, a doctor strides in without knocking. He sympathetically hands discharge papers to a clearly confused Dean. He takes them, examines them and knows it's time to leave. It's time to take his brother to some dirty motel room. Fix him there.

He loads him away into the Impala, wonders if he could leave him behind and show up the next day. Sam wouldn't even notice.

Even though Sam probably does not remember what a hospital is, he seems to be happy to be leaving one. Perhaps, the gloom speaks multiple languages. He doesn't need the definition of a hospital, or the horrible memories he had in them to know this is a horrible, horrible place.

Dean pulls into the first motel they see; the sickening silence between in that car is intolerable.

When he returns with a room key, Sam is asleep. Once all of their things are inside Dean returns to his brothers' side to wake him.

He stirs and Dean looks down painfully, unsure of why he's doing this – resenting his brother. He cannot explain exactly why suddenly a switch is flipped. Why now in the time when his brother needs him the most, needs a reassuring smile, a supportive voice. Why is he denying him?

"Dean?" Sam whispers, searching the figure above him, helpless.

Dean stares blankly, his expression hard, restrained.

"No."

And Dean sees something break there; something he didn't know was breakable.

- - - - - - -

**A/N:** I have a hunch that this is crap. Let me know if I'm right, I'm sort of out of the swing of things, I've hardly written for a year.

-Lilia


End file.
